Day 20: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day #20 Question: The book that I read that has altered my perception of life is…

via hopeedelman.com

This is the question that I’ve had to put the most thought into. I am a voracious reader. Since January 1st I have read 32 books on my Nook and at least 10-15 non-electronic books. I feel like every book I read leaves me with something: a thought, a feeling, a lesson, an inspiration, or an answer. It’s really difficult to choose one book that embodies every qualification required to be life altering, BUT, since I have to pick just one, I’m going to choose, Hope Edelman’s, Motherless Daughters.

I read this book way back in 1994 shortly after it was published. At the time I read it, I had been motherless for nearly a decade. I lost my mother, when I was a junior in college, to a horrific disease called scleroderma. Returning to school after her death was a study in awkwardness among my mothered classmates who were unsure of how to address my loss. For years, I was unsure of how to address it myself. Outwardly, I remained my friendly, smiling, bubbly, responsible self, but on the inside I felt like an island with no bridges. In my early twenties, no one in my group of friends was motherless. I was an oddity, an outsider, who no longer had the gentle, guiding presence of a mother in my life. I smiled with eager, envious, interest as I listened to their tales of shopping trips, meals, holidays, and other excursions with their mothers. Those were things that were mine no more, and at times I burned with silent resentment, especially if they would forget and complain to me about some ridiculous fault that their mother possessed. To me, even a flawed mother was better than no mother at all.

Then one day, while browsing in the bookstore, I ran across Hope Edelman’s book, Motherless Daughters. Even before I’d finished reading the blurb on the inner cover, I felt my eyes brimming with tears. I bought the book, holed myself up in my bedroom for the day, and read the whole thing cover-to-cover. Edelman got me. Absolutely everything that I’d felt in association with my mother’s death was written on the pages of her book. Alone in my apartment, I think I cried to the point of dehydration that day, but when I was done I felt more whole, more healed and more understood than I had in years. I no longer felt alone; Edelman’s book built the first of many bridges that would reach my desolate island.

**On a more cheerful note: I’m heading to the beach tonight!!! I’ll be bringing my computer to check my blog, as well as my subscriptions. I may write a post or two if I have time. I might even post some pictures! I hope all of my readers have a safe and fabulous Memorial Day weekend and a wonderful week!

 

Day 19: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day # 19 Question: The longest period of time I’ve gone without showering or bathing is…

image via nintendolife.com

When I was 17, I lied to my boss. I informed him that a dire family emergency made going to my job as a lifeguard impossible for me for an entire weekend, but in truth, I headed to the beach with four of my best friends. For the first two days, we ruled the beach in our string bikinis; sunning and funning and sneaking the occasional underage beer that my friend Laurie had brought along. Everything was literally going swimmingly until on the third and final day of our retreat when, on a simple beach stroll, we chose to ignore a sign that in bold, red, blaring letters spelled out “Restricted Area, No Beach Access.” “Screw that sign!” my friend Amy roared. “We rule this beach!” We all heartily agreed with her as we brazenly shimmied under the heavy chain meant to keep us out. “This part of the beach is freakin’ amazing,” my friend Beth declared. She was right; it was astonishing! The sky was bluer, the beach was cleaner, the water was clearer and the waves were wavier. We were just about to engage in an underage toast to celebrate our new paradise when we were captured by pirates!

Unfortunately, our captors weren’t the Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp type of pirates. These were buccaneers of the filthy, stinking, unwashed and very unattractive variety. Certain that their mission was to violate the five of us in unsavory and unspeakable ways we fought them tooth and nail, but their thick layers of filth made them impervious to our assaults. “What do you want from us?” I demanded as they dragged us to small, humid quarters located in the very bowels of the ship. “Arrr, we aim to make ye as filthy as we be!” one pirate snarled as he chained us to the wooden walls. “Well, that’s kind of ridiculous,” our friend Pam chimed. “Why don’t you just deflower us and let us go?” Pam was kind of a slut. “Shut up, Pam!” we said in unison. “Arrr, tis not yer young, nubile forms that we be a wantin’. We’re bein’ literal. We aim to make you as grimy and grubby as we be!”

True to their word, for 30 long days and 30 long nights the pirates pummeled us with dirt, garbage and unnamed filth. Finally, on the morning of the 31st day their ship was overtaken by a cutter of very attractive Coast Guardsmen. “Are you here to deflower us?” asked Pam wearily. “No, we’re here to rescue you. Your families have been worried sick, except for yours, Pam. Your mom figured that you met some guy and, um…well…” “Yeah, Pam’s kind of a slut,” Laurie added as she flexed her arms, now free of the chains. By the end of the day we were safely home, basking in the cleansing waters of our own bathrooms.

So, there you have it. I went for 30 and ½ days without a bath or shower. It was a grueling adventure and I definitely learned my lesson about ignoring restrictive signage. What? You don’t believe me? Alright, I’ll fess up! None of that really happened. (I know you’re shocked, because my tale seemed so very plausible!) I would have never lied to my boss at 17, nor would my strict parents have allowed me to go to the beach for a weekend without adult supervision! It’s just that my real answer of 13 days of going without showering or bathing, because I had mono, seemed so terribly boring!

Have a super fabulous and safe weekend, dear readers!

Day 18: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day # 18 Question: The most outrageous thing I would do for a Klondike bar is…

I am extremely lactose intolerant, so my obvious answer would be that I would have loads of diarrhea for a Klondike bar. BUT, that answer doesn’t sound very nice, so let’s play pretend and imagine that I could enjoy the crunchy, chocolate shell and the cold, creamy, dreamy, center of a Klondike. Would an ice cream treat actually be something that I would engage in an outrageous activity in order to eat? I tend to think that it wouldn’t. Perhaps this is because my lifetime of explosive experiences with ice cream has formed a nearly Pavlovian response that forces me to avoid it at all costs, or perhaps it’s because my personal standards are so high that there are only a few things that I would do something outrageous for. Here are some of those things in no particular order of importance:

Things that I would do Outrageous Acts For:

1. Money: Long ago, before I had my student loans paid off, I told my best friend Donna that I would be willing to spend an entire year naked if someone would pay them off for me. That someone never came along, but I would do similar outrageous things involving nudity for large, life-changing sums of money.

2. Meeting Hugh Jackman: More than anything on Earth, I am afraid of moray eels, but I would be willing to swim in a tank filled with 10 large moray eels in order to spend one day with Hugh. Eleven eels; the deal is off!

3. A larger house: My current house is adorable, and it’s certainly filled with love. The problem is that it’s only 1,100 square feet and it usually has anywhere from 4 to 6 adults and two fat cats in it at any given time. I like my space, so for the gigantic home of my dreams I would engage in sewer swimming. Yes, I’m aware that I’m showing no pride of self or sense of safety with this response, but I am a really great swimmer, and I would be willing to swim several miles worth of sewer, in a bikini, for a 5,000 square foot home and a few rounds of antibiotics.

4. To star as Eric Northman’s love interest in the next season of True Blood: Sookie, be damned! Eric should really be with me and the best way to insure that is if I promise to actually drink real, unscreened human blood. Don’t try to talk me out of it; this is a risk I’m willing to take!

5. The guaranteed health of my family: This is a super important one so I would be willing to go pretty far. For this I would pull out all the stops and volunteer to be Oprah’s personal bathroom assistant. This means being there for all of her ups and downs and all of her ones and twos. There to hand her magazines, tissue, and towels, all while averting my eyes per our special contract. Gross? Yes, but for the guaranteed health of YOUR family you might do the same!

Well, there you have it! If anyone in the blogosphere has 10 eels, a large sewer, a random pint of human blood, or knows Oprah, AND can guarantee me wealth, Jackman, a mansion, Northman, or perfect health for my family, call me. I’ll be perfectly willing to be totally outrageous!!

Day 17: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day # 17 Question: Given the choice between giving up sex for the rest of my life or giving up kissing, I would choose…

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Remember in the movie Pretty Woman when Julia Robert’s character, Vivian, told Richard Gere’s character, Edward, that she had a strict “no kissing” rule? In so many words, she told him that it was too personal, yet by the end of the film she threw her “no smooching” regulation out the window and played some serious tonsil hockey with old Eddie. As viewers of the flick, we knew that this was the point that Vivian had fallen in love with Edward. It was the moment when rules no longer mattered and she was willing to engage in an act that she believed to be far more intimate than sex.

At first, I was going to impulsively say that I would give up kissing, because who really wants to give up what most consider being the ultimate act of intimacy, sex? But then, my husband’s simple goodbye kiss this morning made me rethink my answer. A kiss can mean so many things that sex cannot. It can be the first greeting given or the last touch when you say goodbye. Remember when you were “sweet 16 (now days perhaps sweet 14 or 15) and had never been kissed?” Recall the awkward anticipation of lips against yours and the secret thrill of meeting a milestone when at last you engaged in your perfectly imperfect first one? A bride and groom kiss when they are pronounced husband and wife. Loved ones kiss the forehead of a friend or relative who had passed away, in a final goodbye. We kiss mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, friends, and even our pets. Sex could never replace all of the beautiful things that a kiss means, and if we tried to replace a kiss with sex, well, that would just be awkward!

Day 16: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day # 16 Question: If I were given just one day to relive I would most definitely choose…

Bridal magazines are too expensive!

Lately, one of my favorite Friday night activities is watching wedding shows on TLC. Shows like  Say Yes to the Dress and Four Weddings give me a small glimpse into the lives of other women on one of their most special days. While I enjoy living vicariously through these brides as they plan their lavish weddings, I think that my own very simple wedding was perfect and it is the day that I would most like to relive.

If TLC were to make a show about my wedding it might have a title like Say No to Spending Money or Four Guests. My wedding was C-H-E-A-P, and that’s just the way my dear husband and I wanted it to be! Shortly after my husband asked me to marry him, we decided to add an addition to his existing home so that each of my daughters could have their own bedroom and my husband and I could enjoy extra closet space and a bathroom of our own. This was an expensive undertaking, so we decided that the best place to cut costs would be in the wedding department. After all, a wedding is one day, and a marriage is a lifetime.

Being a thrifty girl, I’m actually quite proud of the details of our big day. I wore a lovely, form-fitting, white, beaded dress purchase from a consignment shop for $25 and my husband wore a black suit that he already owned. My bouquet was a simple mix of flowers from our garden (free) and our venue was the county courthouse (free) with the justice of the peace officiating (so free that you’re not even allowed to tip the guy!). I splurged a bit on my daughters and took them to choose dresses and shoes from the mall. They both agreed on lavender, and all totaled with shoes and hair accessories I spent about $100. We had four guests; my ex-in-laws, whom I’ve remained good friends with, and two of my best friends who served as best man and maid of honor. Our rule for them was no gifts and no buying anything special to wear for that day. After the ceremony, we all went to lunch at a fancy restaurant with a bill of about $300. I guess we could have made things less expensive if we had all gone through a drive thru, but I thought that just seemed tacky!

The very best moment of our wedding day was when we’d said goodbye to our friends and loved ones and just the two of us were in our car heading to Rehoboth for our honeymoon. We were slightly tired from the excitement of the day and our fingers intertwined on the console as we quietly looked to the road ahead. I was thrilled, not just to be going on my first real vacation without my kids, but thrilled at all of the possibilities that our new life together would hold. So far, I haven’t been disappointed.

Day 15: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day# 15 Question: If I had to spend an entire day as the opposite sex, I would look like _______ and I would spend the day doing…

I thought we had a good thing going. I can't believe you're NOT choosing me!

This question took a great deal of contemplation. Should I spend the day as the beautiful, talented Hugh Jackman, or as the equally gorgeous and super-hot Alexander Skarsgard? Though both would be dreamy to “wear” for the day, I think the man that I would most like to spend 24 hours as, would be my own very wonderful and very loving husband. Something magical happens when you love, and are truly and absolutely loved by, another human being. My husband’s love and kindness has made me a better, softer, more genuine person and my wish, while spending the day as him, would be to make his life a little bit easier. So, here’s my “To Do” list for my day as my husband.

1. Take care of a few uncomfortable situations at work: My husband is usually very happy with his job as one of the division heads of an engineering firm, but one thing he would rather avoid at work is counseling his employees when they exhibit not-so-stellar personal behavior. Though he performs effectively, he’s totally uncomfortable dealing with issues of a personal nature. Having spent the past 16 years as an educator, I’ve taken care of my share of unusual issues, so dealing with the next two problems would be a piece of cake for me!

a. Tammy and Jack: Tammy and Jack are two of my husband’s married employees. The problem is they’re NOT married to one another, BUT they spend their work days carrying on like they are. Last Wednesday they took their affair to the “next level” The problem is, that level was level #3 of the public parking area where their unsavory union in a company truck was witnessed by a mom and her twin toddlers. She hastily reported them to upper administration. Guess who upper admin has asked to counsel with a letter of reprimand this very morning? Yep, my poor awkward husband. Don’t worry honey—I’m on it!

b. John’s nut sack: (John is my husband’s employee) John is a fabulous engineer, but clearly not a fashionista. It has come to the attention of many, that John enjoys a commando lifestyle sans underwear. This would be all well and good if John’s pants fit him properly, but because his slacks tend to be on the snug side, people are complaining about the old trouser snake and his two very large companions. I have no problem with delivering the news that he needs to wear larger pants in order to not offend. Heck, I’ll even offer him the Kohl’s coupon that I got in the mail yesterday so that he’s guaranteed 15% off some new khakis.

2. See an allergist: The Allegra isn’t cutting it. My husband has sniffed, snorted and sneezed since the onset of spring. After I go, as him, to my allergist, Dr. Matthews, he’ll be breathing better in no time.

3. Check out the ol’ poop shoot: My darling husband is 54. This means that he is past due for a colonoscopy by four years. No matter how much I prod him to just make an appointment and get it done, he doesn’t listen. So during my day as him, I’ll endure a scope up my ass out of pure love for my hubby.

4. Do hard math just for the fun of it: Okay, I’ll admit, this one isn’t for him, it’s for me. All my life I’ve struggled with all types of math beyond Algebra I. I’m going to get out my daughter’s calculus book and solve at least a chapters worth of problems, just to see how it feels to actually understand what I’m doing!

Well that’s my day as the fantastic Mr. Sprinkles! Readers, who would you choose?

Dodging a Bullet Apocalypse Style

Whew! It’s May 22nd, and I feel like I’ve dodged yet another apocalyptic bullet. Actually, I’m very happy to confess that I wasn’t in the least concerned by crazy Mr. Camping’s May 21st Rapture prediction, but I do very seriously wonder how many children out there were frightened by his prophecy. The reason for my speculation is that I was once a completely terrified twelve year-old certain that the world would not last beyond my childhood. There were two extremely valid reasons that my pre-pubescent self was certain that doomsday was drawing near. The first was that my grandmother had ever so lovingly taken me, at least a dozen times, to the Pentecostal church that she attended. One thing I soon found out about Pentecostals, besides the fact they rolled in the aisles and spoke in tongues, was that they talked constantly about “the end times,” and according to them just about everything was a sign that the end times were near. If there was a slight earthquake in California, it was a sign of the end times. If teenaged boys began wearing their hair longer, it was a sign of the end times. If an R-rated movie won an Academy Award, then Armageddon was soon to follow. The other, and perhaps most binding, reason that I feared the end of the world was imminent was that a person that I deemed extremely credible told me that it would be happening. This person was my 7th grade science teacher and at 12, I had no doubt that any grain of knowledge passed down to me by a teacher was absolutely, positively, beyond a shadow of a doubt the truth.

Mr. Smith was hired to teach 7th grade science a few months after school had actually started. Before him, we had a series of substitute teachers who never seemed to get past the first chapter in the science book. I was tired of learning and relearning about cell functions, so I was pretty psyched when the board of education granted Mr. Smith the position of our science teacher. Mr. Smith was a cool, young, teacher fresh out of college. He energetically pushed us through the rest of cell biology and moved through several more chapters. Everything was going swimmingly until we reached the chapter on astronomy. At first, this unit was rather exciting because Mr. Smith deemed himself an amateur astronomer complete with a very expensive telescope and a notebook brimming with universal theories. Immediately, after he spent some time bragging to us about the size and cost of his device, he began sharing his theories. Most were fairly benign, but the theory that he called “The Big One” was horrific. He claimed that in March of 1982 the planets would align on the same side of the sun causing an event so cataclysmic that we would all be hurled into a black hole where our bodies would implode, leaving nothing but our severed consciousness to float in a sea of nothingness for eternity. This was some pretty deep shit that he was springing on a bunch of naïve 12 year-olds, but he was a teacher; an authority figure, and I felt forced to consider the possibility of his postulations.

Suddenly, my small world began to feel more than a little hopeless. Things at home were already pretty grim. With my mother recovering from a radical mastectomy and my father drinking himself to a raging oblivion on a daily basis, school had been my escape. Now with nothing but additional doomsday theories from Mr. Smith to look forward to during 5th period, school felt sullied and ruined. I began to look for ways to get out of his class. I was far too terrified of the wrath of my father to ditch 5th period, so I attempted to claim illness every day after lunch, in order to be sent home. At first it worked, and my grandmother or a neighbor would pick me up from school. After a week of this, however, my mother grew wise to my ruse and demanded to know why I didn’t want to spend the entire day at school. Was I being picked on? Was I doing poorly in a class? I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I was trying to avoid. She was battling cancer and I was terrified that if she knew that we were all going to die in 1982 that she would abandon her fight. So I told her everything was fine, that I was feeling better and would no longer call to come home. This left me with finding a way to get through Mr. Smith’s class without listening to his theories or his responses to my classmates constant queries about “The Big One.” Not paying attention in class had always been sort of problem of mine, and I decided to use it to my advantage. So, during Mr. Smith’s class I completely blocked out his lecturing and voraciously wrote in my science notebook. I made sure to periodically look up, make eye contact, and nod in agreement with what he was saying so he would think that I was hungrily writing down his every word. In truth, I was writing my bucket list, and since I knew that most of the goals on my list would never be completed before the planets aligned and we were all screwed, I wrote about how they might have been. I wrote of graduation and college, about my marriage to Donny Osmond and our two kids named Jasmine and Xavier. I wrote about my career as a famous actress who did both dog food commercials and soap operas with Academy Award winning flair.

My plan was working beautifully until report card time rolled around and the square that usually housed an above average science grade held an F. This F brought me much more worry than it would to your average 7th grader, my mother, who had always been very active in my school life, was insistent about attending a parent-teacher conference to discuss my poor mark and lack of progress. Like any kid with an F on her report card, I didn’t want her to attend a meeting with my teacher. This wasn’t because I was afraid of her finding out that I had been slacking in class. It was because she was receiving chemotherapy and I was terrified that she would contract a life-threatening illness at my germy school. This was my tipping point. It was the moment that my fear of losing my mother became greater than my fear of the end of the world and I fessed up. Everything came spilling out. I tearfully showed her my detailed bucket list and begged her to not abandon her fight despite the short time that we all had left on Earth. She circled me in her arms and assured me that for centuries people have foretold the world’s demise without success. She said that I had nothing to worry about, and that’s all it took to make things better. I believed her, because when you’re 12 a mother’s theory trumps all others.

With some work I eventually raised my science grade to a B, although a substitute placed the higher mark on my report card. Mr. Smith wasn’t permitted to finish out the school year, once school officials found out that he had been inviting students to his home to see his “telescope” and discuss his theories. My mother recovered and spent the rest of her life cancer free, and I’ve never worried about the end of the world again.

Day 14: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day # 14 Question: The most disgusting food I’ve ever eaten was…

Ah, this question prompts me to tell you the tale of when I met prank phone call guy’s parents, my first set of in-laws. After PPCG (“prank phone call guy” from here on) had been dating for about a month, he decided that I should meet his mom and dad. Despite my silly interior, I’ve found that I am the type of girl that you take home to mom. So, dinner invitations were extended to me and I soon found myself sitting at the head of the table in their formal dining room.

Before I go any further in this story, it is important that I share with you my history of food up to that point. My mother was extremely picky about what she fed to us. I grew up in a very rural area where we had a ginormous, pesticide-free vegetable garden, an orchard of apple trees, a sprinkling of peach and pear trees, and a lovely bunch of chickens. All of our vegetables and fruits were either eaten fresh, or canned or frozen for the rest of the year by my mother and grandmother. The meat that we ate, aside from our chickens, came from the farm that was less than a mile from my house. My parents only bought a few things from the grocery store like dairy products, cereal, which was never the sweetened variety, and the components for baking bread. When our garden wasn’t producing mom would purchase some produce, but she would treat it as poison until she had thoroughly washed it.

You can imagine that my transition from eating a diet of whole, preservative free food, to eating food from a college cafeteria was a rough one. While I was thrilled to have the option of sweetened cereal, and ate my weight in Fruit Loops my first semester, my stomach was very sensitive to most of the foods offered. To avoid sudden attacks of intestinal distress, (AKA diarrhea), I found myself sticking to very safe options in the cafeteria; mainly foods that were in their whole form and not mixed into some sort of gloppy casserole.

After struggling to eat cafeteria food for so long, I was thrilled at the prospect of a home-cooked meal when PPCG’s mom invited me to dinner. There I sat at the head of the table where everyone could get a proper look at the girl who had stolen their son or brother’s heart. PPCG’s mom had prepared quite a spread of baked chicken, au gratin potatoes, green beans, and rolls. PPCGs mom was one of those who prepared everyone’s plate for them. First, she served the men, which would have NEVER gone down in my household! Then she served me. Before she spooned an item on my plate she asked me if I liked it. When she got to the au gratin potatoes, I told her they were one of my favorites, so she gave me an extra-large helping. After grace was said, we proceeded to chow down. The chicken was great. The beans were perfectly steamed. The rolls were delicious. The au gratin potatoes, however, were HORRIBLE. There was no creamy dreamy cheese sauce like my own mother made, and certainly no mellow, earthy taste from the potatoes. This dish tasted like garbage. It tasted as if it had been hatefully crafted by the Devil in the kitchen of Hell. As I politely choked down this orange glob that seemed to be growing on my plate, PPCG’s mother, asked me if I liked them. For a moment I wondered if she was being facetious. I wondered if I had been seated at the head of the table as part of a girlfriend poisoning ritual. I expected that if I peeked under the table that I would see her dainty cloven hoof impatiently tapping, waiting for me to die. “They’re great!” I said enthusiastically as I suffered another mouthful. “Well, believe it or not they’re from a boxed mix, but I think they’re just as good as homemade,” she replied. Relief swept over me. She wasn’t trying to kill me; she had merely made a bad cooking choice. I pretended to adjust the strap of my sandal and checked her feet. No cloven hooves! I was safe.

Apparently NOT made in Hell by the Devil. Who knew?

Day 13: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

Question for Day 13 — My favorite activity to do alone is…

I didn't plan on being one of these!

I would LOVE to have a super creative answer for this question, but the truth is I am very rarely alone.  My house is usually bustling with humans and felines, and anytime I leave my home one of them seems to be with me! Because I spend so very little time in solitude, I often fantasize about what I would do if I had a day, or even a few hours, to myself.  I imagine I would get quite a lot of writing done, perhaps read one of the novels that’s been waiting by my beside, or clean some part of my house that I usually neglect because it’s too time consuming. Today, by an odd coincidence I had a chance to find out exactly what I would do with some alone time. My daughter was called to work early and my husband didn’t get home until 5:30.  This gave me a full, glorious 90 minutes to myself.  Did I write or read?  Did I clean out my walk-in closet? Nope. I sat on my sofa like a sloth and watched Oprah interview James Frey, and then I watched The Barefoot Contessa. Actually, I must confess that I didn’t watch all of The Barefoot Contessa, I drifted off to sleep a few minutes after the show started. I’m sure once my daughter moves out in July and once the Fall semester begins for my younger daughter, that I’ll have boatloads of alone time.  Then, I’ll have a much better answer for this question, but for now I’m going to have to give the super lame answer of watching TV and sleeping!

Day 12: 31 Days of Blogging Honesty

 

 

 

 

Day 12 — I was just honored by my peers and family. I most likely I got the award because I…

This question is truly very coincidental because I actually was honored today by a member of my family. Today, my oldest daughter graduated from college with a BS in Biology and Chemistry. As you can imagine, I was bursting with pride and shedding a few tears as I watched my first born reach another milestone with great success. After a beautiful, but very long ceremony, my lovely blond daughter stood before me a college graduate. As we were about to leave the gym she hugged and kissed me and placed her gold, satin graduation stole across my shoulders. “Read the inside, Mom,” she said, with happy tears glistening in her green eyes. This is what the inside said:

Dear Mom,

I am presenting you with the stole of gratitude because you are the one person who has made the biggest impact on my life. You are the number one reason that I stand before you today as a college graduate, on my way to medical school. Because of all of your love and sacrifice, I am moving on to the next chapter of my life with confidence and the comfort of knowing that you’ll always be there for me. I cannot express the amount of thanks that I have for all that you have done. You are a wonderful mom and will always be my best friend!! I LOVE you so much!

Love,

Your Daughter

When I graduated from college, I was seven months pregnant with my youngest daughter, and my eldest, who penned this note, was only two. I was unaware of the tradition of presenting the stole of gratitude. Had my own mother been alive at the time of my college graduation, I would have certainly presented my stole to her, and written a similar note. My daughter’s presentation to me was an unexpected honor. It made me realize what an incredible gift today was.

Hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend! I’m off to bed!